She was curious. A little too much.
The kind of curiosity that gets people killed in my world.
But instead of locking her door, I found myself watching her through the security feed in my office. Watching her stand in front of the piano and run her fingers along the keys without pressing them. Watching her linger by the balcony, head tilted back, breathing like she was memorizing freedom.
The strangest thing was, I didn’t mind it.
On the third day, I told myself I was just being practical when I ordered new artwork to be delivered. The gallery owner sounded confused when I asked for something ‘bright’. I ended the call before he could question it. It wasn’t for me. It was for her.
I still had not decided what I was going to do with her. I had married her on a whim, and now she was my wife, and no one in the family knew about it. I could only imagine how Iosif would react when he found out I had bought a girl at an auction and married her. Lukyan, Timofey, and Zhenya would be amused but hopefully supportive. The more I delayed telling them, the harder everything seemed. Zhenya had been calling me because I hadn’t been home for one week now. I had told her I was away for work
But I needed to do something about it. And I needed to do it fast.
I caught myself imagining how she’d light up when she saw the new paintings, how she’d start talking too fast, forgetting to be scared. I was beginning to think about her more than I wanted to admit, and it was irritating me.
By the sixth morning, she had stopped flinching when I entered a room. That was progress, I thought. But dangerousprogress. She was sitting in the library, barefoot again, a mug of tea balanced between her palms. Sunlight cut across her face through the tall windows.
I leaned against the doorframe. “You drink too much tea.”
She looked up, smiling faintly. “You watch me too much.”
“You’re under my roof.”
“So that makes me your business?”
“It makes you my responsibility.”
Her gaze softened for a second before she looked back at the shelves. “You should put something happier in here. These books all look like they want to die.”
I almost smiled. “They’re classics.”
“Exactly.”
I crossed the room, stopping behind her chair. “You don’t like classics?”
“I like endings that make sense,” she said. “Not the ones that ruin you.”
She didn’t mean it as anything more, but the words stuck somewhere deep.
“Get dressed,” I said after a pause.
She blinked quietly. “For what?”
“We’re going out.”
Her head whipped towards me. “Out? As in outside?”
“That’s what the word means.”
Her smile was small, hopeful. “You’re… taking me on a date?”
“Don’t push it.”
She laughed, the sound warm and careless. “Then why are we going?”
“Because you’ve been staring at these walls for one week now,” I replied. “You’ll suffocate if you stay in here any longer.”
“And you care?”
